


a new lease on life

by allmywill



Category: Duran Duran
Genre: Alcohol, Alternate Universe - 1920s, Established Relationship, M/M, Non-Graphic Violence, Rewrite, Speakeasies
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-05-06
Updated: 2020-05-06
Packaged: 2021-03-03 02:48:49
Rating: Mature
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 2,005
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/24027682
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/allmywill/pseuds/allmywill
Summary: Adrenaline floods their bodies as they speed away. They feel they’ve been offered a new lease on life.
Relationships: Simon Le Bon/John Taylor (Duran Duran)
Comments: 4
Kudos: 6





	a new lease on life

**Author's Note:**

> an old fic of mine that has been reworked. this one is a lot less dark than my original!

Simon loves the nighttime, especially in the winter, when snowflakes fall. They make the sky appear soft against the glow of the street lamps. New York City is always scenic, with all its pretty shop windows and energetic people that never seem to sleep.

It feels like a different world at this time. The night owls come out, on the prowl for booze and a warm cozy place to drink it. He can’t appreciate it fully, not right now at least. He has to make sure John doesn’t crash their car.

“Almost there, I-I think the place should, uh, be around here somewhere,” John speaks, speech slurring. Of course he’s had too much to drink.

He shouldn’t even be behind the wheel, why Simon let him, he’s not sure. They’re already in enough danger by just being out and about, with a cab full of moonshine.

“I’m aware, Johnny,” he replies, eyeing the other man’s poor driving skills nervously. He’s not looking to die tonight. He’s got a boatload of booze to get off his hands, excited to finally cash in.

It’s the strongest stuff he’s ever brewed, and perhaps that’s the reason why John couldn’t control himself. Letting him try it before they left was probably a bad idea. He groans, John swerving all over the street. “Just keep your eyes on the road, would you please?”

Luckily for the two of them, they arrive at the location they agreed on with the manager of the bar. When John stops the car, Simon jumps out for a quick look around. You can never be too careful in this business.

“Is it safe?” John asks, promptly a bit too loud, but the hustle and bustle of the city traffic helps to mask his voice. Rush hour is coming to a close, which means the speakeasy’s usual customers will be arriving soon to drink the night away.

Simon sighs. “Yeah, appears to be.” He feels around for his gun, checking to make sure he still has it on him—never knowing when he’s gonna need the thing makes him nervous as hell. It’s loaded, ready in case something gets ugly. He tries not to think about the possibilities, about how high the chances are these days.

John gets out of the driver’s seat, making it quite obvious that he’s intoxicated. He stumbles against the side of the shiny black Oldsmobile, hands resting against the door.

Simon retreats to his side, grabbing him by the waist. He turns the other man so that he’s facing him now. “Get a hold of yourself, Nigel! We can’t afford to mess this up tonight.” He narrows his eyes.

His face is unreadable, but he starts to lean in slowly. “Sorry. Kiss me, Charlie,” John slurs his nickname, looking at his lips with longing in his eyes.

Simon pushes him away, though he would rather pull him close. “Not here, okay?”

“Later?” he asks, brown eyes wide.

“Of course,” is Simon’s reply.

———

They successfully deliver the fresh booze, the manager paying them in full. They split the cash fifty-fifty, burying it deep within their pockets. The banks are closed for the night, and won’t be open until the next morning. It feels quite dangerous carrying so much cash around. Simon will be on high alert for the rest of the night, trying to protect their money _and_ John.

There’s a jazz singer booked for the night, a glamourous young woman who looks pleased as the growing crowd filters in slowly from the back door. She’s got short cropped hair and is wearing a long dress that sparkles when it catches the house lights. Simon watches as she takes a long sip of something in a tall glass. It’s most likely an alcoholic beverage, given their location. She hands it to someone backstage, then walks up to the center of the stage.

The band counts in and begins to play, the crowd hollering with excitement. The night has officially begun, the room alive with the brash sound of the instruments and the clinking of glasses.

Simon hangs onto John, making sure he doesn’t get himself into trouble. He’s starting to sober up a bit, thankfully. They stand in the back of the bar, watching over the speakeasy to pass some time. There’s really no need for them to hang around after making their delivery, but they like to enjoy the atmosphere. It gives them something to do, and the music is quite nice after all.

On this particularly cloudy night, Simon seems aloof, enough for John to notice, even in his current state. He stands against the wood paneling near the bar, arms crossed. His eyes are wandering between the mass of people and the ground, not bothering to make conversation.

“Charlie, what’s going on with you? You’ve been acting strange all night.” John has to ask, his lover’s coldness chilling him to the bone. He isn’t himself.

Simon shrugs, brushing it off. “I’m fine,” he replies simply. “Why do you ask?”

John shakes his head. He can see past his fronts, always. “You’re quiet, distant. Which isn’t like you at all.”

“I’m just thinking, that’s all,” he answers flatly.

“Oh, come on. We both know that’s utter _bullshit_.” John decides to prod. “Talk to me.”

That earns a sigh from Simon. He looks up to make eye contact with John, even though the dim lighting of the corner they’re nestled in makes it difficult to see each other. “I just... miss you,” Simon mutters, keeping his voice quiet.

“Why?” John asks, closing some of the distance between them. He reaches out to place a hand on Simon’s shoulder, curling his fingers. “I’m right here, with you.”

Simon felt himself melt a little, as if he were ice in the summer sun. “Johnny, this is a public place, we can’t—”

“Who cares? It’s dark, everyone is too worried about the drinks and the music anyway. Kiss me,” John persuades, craving to feel his lips on his own more than ever. Maybe he’s not as sober as he thought.

“No one will buy drink from us ever again if they find out we’re together, and they’ll turn us in,” Simon speaks frantically. “We’re not _normal_.”

John has had enough of Simon’s nonsense talk. He grabs his arm and drags him to the nearest restroom, the door nearest to where they were standing.

He shuts the door behind them and turns on the light, letting his hands fall on Simon’s hips, like they were meant to do just that. He leans in close, watching his eyes adjust to the light: pupils shrinking, then dilating all over again.

“Better?” John asks. He can hear the music still, the upbeat jazz numbers becoming the soundtrack of their night.

Simon melts again, knowing he will soon be nothing but a puddle. John does it to him, makes him fall and fall more all the time. “Much better,” he sighs in reply, contented.

John leans in and does what he has been waiting to do all night, pressing a kiss to Simon’s lips. It starts out sweet, but soon turns into a desperate game, a push and a pull.

He grips onto John, as tightly as his hands will allow. He needs him close. They feel safe, although someone could walk in at any given moment. Perhaps the danger of it is part of the game, fueling the adrenaline they both can feel bubbling in their stomachs.

“Love you,” Simon confesses when they pull apart, breathily. He had forgotten to say it back earlier and he feels bad about it. It doesn’t matter that John was drunk, he knows he means it.

John smiles at his tender words. “And I love you.”

With that, he attaches his mouth to Simon’s neck, pushing him flush against the wall. He sucks on the skin enough to leave a mark. He loves covering his body in bruises, leaving evidence of their time spent together.

The moment is heavenly bliss until the music comes to an abrupt halt. The sound of the jazz band is replaced with yelling, then a scream, and a lone gunshot can be heard. John pulls away, giving Simon a look that spells _fear_.

“Oh god,” Simon whispers. “What should we do?”

“I don’t know.” John’s mind is racing, trying to think of something. Anything. “We need to get out of here, right now.”

Another gunshot echoes. This one sounds closer.

“Johnny, they’ll see us,” Simon panics. He can feel his heart beating erratically in his chest, robbing him of his breath. His hands begin to tremble; he grabs for John’s, finding that his are trembling too.

“They’ll find us eventually. We can’t stay in here, we need to go!” John grows more frantic. He squeezes Simon’s hands and watched the fear swirl in his eyes.

Everything is happening too fast, which causes his head to spin. Maybe, if he’s lucky enough, he’ll wake up from slumber and realize it was nothing but a silly dream. “Okay,” Simon agrees. “The bar is close, we can hide behind it.”

John is about to slip out the door, until Simon pulls him back. He reached and pulls out his gun, the one he hoped he wouldn’t have to use earlier. He has to protect the two of them somehow. “Wait, let me go first.”

He moves to stand behind him, letting go of his hand in the process. He can feel his heart in his throat, his insides stirring in horrid anticipation for what they’ll find on the other side of the door.

Simon pulls the door open and makes a beeline for the back of the bar, with John on his heels. He only sees a flash of the scene before him: people with their hands up, surrendering, and a few littering the floor. He can’t identify the gunmen, for the room is much too dark.

The bartender is the only other person hiding behind the bar. He gives the two of them an acknowledging glance. John leans closer to the man. “What’s going on?” he whispers, afraid of the answer.

“Another gang, I suppose. They want everything we’ve got,” he replies nervously. “You need to get out of here, now.”

“ _Shit_...” Simon curses under his breath. He peeks over the side of the bar, spotting one gunman in the shadows. He appears to be holding someone by the shirt collar while he presses the gun to their temple.

Part of Simon wants to abandon his hiding spot and take the guy down, but another part of him knows for a fact he wouldn’t make it out alive. He sighs heavily, breath uneven.

“I know where the door is.” John tugs on Simon’s arm to urge him away from the side, not wanting him to be seen. “If we’re quick enough, they won’t even see us.”

The gun feels heavy in Simon’s hands. His finger is hooked around the trigger, ready to pull when needed. He has never once shot someone before, perhaps tonight will be the first time. That thought alone makes him feel utterly perturbed.

“Let’s go then,” Simon tells him. “I’ve got your back.”

Before he could process what was happening, they’re both running towards the exit door, towards what they hope and pray will be freedom. Every second feels like a decade.

John dodges a bullet, ducking just in time to miss it. They both crash into the door and turn the knob, the night air filling their heaving lungs. It shuts and they gasp for air, shock coursing through their veins a million miles a minute.

Now is no time to celebrate. Now is the time to run, find their car and _step on it._

Simon keeps his gun close and grabs John’s hand. Together they run, wordless as they save themselves. John tosses Simon the key and before long, they’re tearing out of the city.

Adrenaline floods their bodies as they speed away. They feel they’ve been offered a new lease on life.


End file.
